Perfect Victim
by LiquidAltar
Summary: Random Jay POV, done mainly for a friend and out of curiosity. I'll finish it, promise. Rated M for sex and violence and all the fun things.


"Hey, can I buy a cigarette off you?"

Within ten seconds of seeing him, I knew without a doubt that by tomorrow night this boy would be hacked into pieces, conveniently stored and hidden away like a dirty little secret. I stared at him a minute longer, hoping that the wait tormented him, taking in every sweet little detail; those rust-colored eyes, whore eyes; the way he kept tonguing those ugly little liprings of his, the delicious curve of his ass in far-too-tight jeans. Yes, I'd already made up my mind, he'd just now sealed the deal.

"What have you got to offer?"

I dangled the pack of Marlboros near him, not quite teasing but something close enough to catch his eye. He trotted over, and I got a closer look at him. He looked maybe 19, trying to look older and tougher and failing miserably. His eyes were too wide, the curves of his mouth too sweet, his baby-face smooth and almost unnaturally perfect. No, this was no street boy. This was a kid who was used to getting what he wanted and throwing tantrums when it didn't come easy. This was a brat, a fantastically lovely looking one, but a brat nonetheless.

He tilted his head, not understanding what I'd meant. I turned to face him, letting my eyes fall over all of his pretty little curves and angles. "Along the lines of payment. You said you'd buy a cigarette off me…I've got more than enough money, so you'll have to offer something better".

A mix of emotions passed through his face almost imperceptibly; fear, hope, confusion, hunger. Any of them would be useful, each of them on their own could be reason enough to trust a stranger, but combined? I could have this brat eating shit out of my hand and thanking me for it, if I played my cards right. And as I'd expect, he came sauntering over, false confidence and posturing for all to see, the tiniest smile gracing his lips.

"Well, what do you have in mind?" Staring up at me slowly with those heartbreaker's eyes, those dirty-secret eyes. I leaned in close to him, still holding the pack of cigarettes just out of reach and whispered

"That's not the question at all, my friend. I asked you first. How bad is your addiction, and what are these worth to you? Because, I feel like I should let you know, I could burn this entire pack right now, buy another and do the same, and it wouldn't make a dent in my finances."

Again, something warred behind those dark eyes, a seeping mix of confusion and raw, hungry addiction. Without warning he dropped to the ground, dark eyes never leaving mine, fingers writhing a trail down my legs. I smiled and dropped the pack on the ground next to him, grabbing a fistful of his hair.

"If you want them, you'll have to come home with me. Blowing me in an alleyway is all fine and fun, but we could have a much better time in private". He made a soft growling noise in his throat, drawing in a sharp breath and whispered "Okay". I nudged the pack towards him with my shoe, waiting for him to grab it and dragged him to his feet by his hair.

He tore open the pack like it was heaven-sent, digging out a worn looking zippo and lighting it almost before it touched his lips. I leaned against the cool brick of the alley, knowing that I had all the time in the world, in no hurry at all. I watched in mild fascination as he smoked, small little chest heaving with each suck, soft lips tight around the cigarette like a lover's mouth, eyes half-shut in ecstasy. Watching him smoke was almost like watching masturbation, I realized, and it made me laugh. He paused long enough to shoot me a "What are you thinking?" look, shrugged and went on. I was getting restless so I grabbed his long-fingered hand and pulled, setting off towards home. He was quiet for the rest of the walk, smoking another cigarette on the way.

During the short course of the walk I found myself wondering what thoughts might be running through his lovely little head. Was he just happy to have found smokes, to be getting laid? Was he apprehensive, maybe even minutely aware of the fate he might be joyfully walking towards? Or was he just a clueless, air-headed prettyboy about to meet a wonderful, untimely demise?

I wasted no time with frivolities once we made it home. No candles or music tonight, I wasn't in the mood for trying to figure out what particular brand of sound this little junkie was hooked on. I locked the door tight behind me and pulled him against it, knocking his head against the heavy wood. His fingers locked behind my neck, tongue searching for mine, frail little body arching against me. I hoped that he'd put up a fight, hoped that his obviously bratty nature might rear it's pompous little head once the party got going.

"What do you want me to do?" He gasped against my ear as my nails found their way under his shirt. I laughed, murmuring more to myself _"You'll find out soon enough". _I started for the bedroom, pulling him by his shirt and again he complied, apparently better at following cues than I'd expected.

He didn't bother with foreplay or any kind of cutesy bullshit, which I had to admire. He pulled his shirt off on the way and fought at mine by time we neared the bed, quiet little moaning noises curling out of his throat. He slid out of his pants, pulling me on top of him and stared up at me again.

"Anything" he moaned, hips curving up to meet mine, spider-fingers twining into my hair. I stared into him for a moment, taking all of him in, in that second both adoring and hating him for being so lovely, so young, so untouchable. Well…maybe not that last one.

I buried my face into his neck and bit hard, holding his thin shoulders down while his body arched against me.


End file.
